Page 12 of The Stolen Queen

A stout woman with gray hair stood planted on the spot like a sphinx, a stopwatch in one hand. As the docent continued speaking, mumbling about the piece being “very old” and “made from polishedcerulean,” the educator shook her head. “Go deeper, Priscilla. Reallylookat it.”

“Um. Back when it was made, it would be displayed in a home. Or maybe a temple or a pyramid—I’m not sure—and the woman who this represents was very beautiful and wealthy.” The trainee continued talking in circles, but was slowly losing momentum, like a toy with a dying battery. She locked eyes with a dark-haired woman in a Chanel suit who stood a few feet away from Charlotte. Another docent in training, Charlotte guessed. The dark-haired woman was mouthing something, trying to help out her friend.

“It’s from the New Kingdom,” said Priscilla proudly.

“She got that last bit right,” said Frederick. “I’m almost impressed.”

“Looks like she has a prompter.” Charlotte gestured with one elbow in the dark-haired woman’s direction.

“I take it back.”

Just as it was becoming too painful for Charlotte to watch the history of her favorite statue get mangled by Priscilla the wannabe docent, the educator pocketed the watch and clapped her hands together. “I’ve heard worse,” she said, “but you have a long way to go, Priscilla. Why would you describe this piece as ‘old’? That’s boring, not to mention redundant.”

Charlotte didn’t wait to hear the answer. “Frederick, I believe your next appointment is with me.”

He stiffened. “Is this about the loan?”

“No. It’s not about the loan.” She swallowed the wave of panic that threatened and reminded herself to breathe. “I have something interesting to show you.”

“In that case, show away.”

In her cubicle, she laid out the photographs from Luxor on her desk in order and launched into her pitch. “It’s common knowledge among historians that Saukemet II ordered the erasures of Hathorkare’sname and image in anger, shortly after he came to power. But I think the timing is off.”

“You do, do you?” Frederick raised his eyebrows in amusement, as if she were a child who was unsuccessfully trying fit a piece into a jigsaw puzzle.

“Yes. Way off. By studying the dates when certain of her temples were dismantled—which, of course, was common at the time—and then reassembled by successive pharaohs, I can prove that the erasures occurred at least twenty years later—which takes all the air out of the revenge theory.”

Frederick studied the photos for a minute before glancing back at Charlotte. He had written his dissertation on Saukemet II and was considered the topmost scholar of the pharaoh’s reign. Just Charlotte’s luck. “Why on earth would he order the erasures, then?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“My theory is that, as an older man, Saukemet II expected his son to become pharaoh after his death. However, the daughter of another royal family enjoyed a more direct line to the dynasty’s founder, which made her a potential threat to Saukemet II’s plans. It didn’t help matters that his predecessor was Hathorkare, whose depictions sometimes contained male traits—like a reddish tint to the skin, a headdress, or a beard—presumably to reinforce the idea that she was as powerful as a man. As far as I can tell, onlythosetypes of images of Hathorkare were vandalized. If Saukemet II was so angry at his stepmother, why would he carefully pick and choose which ones to remove?”

“Why indeed?”

“My guess is he didn’t want his subjects to be reminded of Hathorkare’s appropriation of male divinity. Furthermore, the proscription against images of Hathorkare was lifted not long after it had been firmly established that his son—and not the daughter of therival clan—would inherit the throne, which backs up my theory that he was more concerned about his legacy than some personal grudge against Hathorkare.”

Frederick stared hard at her documentation as she pointed out specific examples of the erasures.

“If I’m right,” she continued, “it means that Hathorkare was not universally reviled, as we’ve long thought. Instead, she should be considered one of the top pharaohs of ancient Egypt in terms of her longevity and her artistic and economic contributions, a woman who successfully ruled both as regent and in her own right, guiding her successor on how to lead a country.”

Frederick didn’t speak for a moment after she finished. “How long have you been working on this?”

She pointed to the thick manila folder on her desk, filled with her references, sources, notes, and journal research. “I started looking into it a few years ago. But I wanted to wait to say anything until I was sure I had it right.”

“That’s a long time to keep secrets.” He ran his hand through his hair and gave a little shake of his head. Frederick didn’t like to be surprised. “Well, I have to admit I’m quite impressed. Your premise would turn history on its ear. After all, it was the Met’s own curators who called her a vixen.”

“Not quite. They called her a ‘vain, ambitious, and unscrupulous woman’ who was unloved by her people and by her successor. These photos prove them wrong. Wrong about the timeline, wrong about the reason for the erasures, and wrong about her character.”

“I’m guessing you want to write a journal article about this?” said Frederick.

Charlotte’s pulse quickened. “I do. I know we have a lot going on with the Tut exhibition, but I think I can get it done by early next year.”

“That won’t work.”

She’d figured he’d push back, and was prepared. “I’ll do it in my spare time, on weekends, at night. I promise it won’t interfere with Tut.”

“It’s not that. It’s a lovely premise, and very modern with women’s lib and all that craziness. Almost a little too on the nose, you might say.”

“I’m dealing with what happened in the past, not what’s going on now.”

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